


You Don't Deserve Me

by LibraryBandit



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Brightwell, F/M, Malcolm is a dumbass, but he's our favorite dumbass, hurt comfort, oooh she mad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23321104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraryBandit/pseuds/LibraryBandit
Summary: He was lucky, they said. He could count his luck in inches. Had the bullet struck him any lower, striking anywhere near his heart, it most certainly would have killed him.When Dani and Malcolm have a disagreement about how long he should stay in the hospital, it doesn't go well.And yet, despite how angry she is with him, she can't leave him alone for the night. Not when he needs her.Featuring lemon Jell-O and first "I love you"s.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 28
Kudos: 148





	You Don't Deserve Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [civillove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/gifts).



> HEY GUYS. So, once upon a time, my friend McCall (@civillove) had her birthday on a Monday, and Fox had the utter audacity to NOT air a new episode of PSon for her. (I know, right?!) So I told her I'd write a fic for her birthday--now a very belated birthday, because it's been like, two weeks or something stupid, and I am terrible. But! Here it is. I wrote this for McCall, but y'all can read it, if you want to. 

He was lucky, they said. He could count his luck in inches. Had the bullet struck him any lower, striking anywhere near his heart, it most certainly would have killed him. Despite the kevlar vest, there was only so much impact one could take from a high-powered hunting rifle designed for wild African game. Thankfully, their perp’s aim wasn’t the best; Malcolm’s clavicle had taken the brunt of the blow, instead of his heart. 

The bone had snapped on impact. It hurt like hell, would continue to hurt like hell, and was going to take the better part of two months in a tight sling to heal properly. But he was alive. 

Alive and just as obstinate as ever. The very second one of the nurses had mentioned giving him a painkiller that would also put him to sleep, something any normal patient would have begged for at that point, he demanded his discharge papers. 

Dani could have killed him. He hadn’t even been at the hospital long enough for his mother or sister to respond to the text that he was there, in the first place. Instead of killing him, she drove him home, visibly fuming at the wheel. Wisely, he hadn’t attempted small talk. 

One thing Dani never had to worry about in her relationship with Malcolm, amid the constant barrage of things she  _ did _ have to worry about, was dropping passive-aggressive hints when she was upset with him. In that regard (and many others), their relationship was far from a stereotype. He was, as expected, rather perceptive, and needed no extra help gauging her anger cues. By now, he had them memorized, could recite them in his sleep, and usually could tell when she was upset with a situation or with him, specifically. 

And right now, she was quite unquestionably upset with him. Initially, when he had first been hurt, fear and worry had clouded out every other emotion. (Watching him take a high-caliber bullet to the chest would do that, naturally, kevlar or no kevlar.) But after the initial shock had worn off, anger settled into the spaces it left behind. Quiet fury had been simmering beneath her skin since they’d left the hospital; now it was well past its boiling point. She hadn’t spoken a single syllable directly to him since their argument over him signing himself out (again) against medical advice. 

And she didn’t plan on it. Her plan was to get him to his loft, into his bed, and then promptly take her anger home with her so she could scream it into a pillow. 

She watched him clamber up onto his bed, her expression an unreadable mask. But for a moment, her anger was overtaken by the most serene sense of deja vu. She had seen this view before, oh so long ago, and the affection the memory carried squeezed her heart. Only now, with one arm pinioned to his body, Malcolm’s movements were much sloppier. At one point, he almost fell right on his face on his mattress, ass in the air. He caught himself at the last second, dropped down onto his elbow, and righted himself. Dani fought a smile, wrangled it back into a twitching frown. She set her satchel down next to the wall by the door, approaching the bed slowly as she watched him struggle pathetically to line up his pillows behind him with only one arm. She could only watch for so long.

“Here,” she said with a sigh. “Let me.” They were the first words she had spoken to him in an hour. They came out brusque, and Malcolm glanced up at her quickly, like he was surprised she was still there. Dani placed her hand on his back to support him as she adjusted the pillows behind him, and when he leaned back, his expression melted into one of laxened gratitude. 

Whatever they had given him at the hospital was strong stuff, she was sure; either that or it was reacting poorly with the handful of medications he took each morning. The list of possible adverse interactions between medications in his system at any given time was a long one. A delicate line existed between what was a perfectly prescribed dose and accidental overdose, and that line was all too easily crossed. 

Bright had mentioned earlier that week that his therapist was considering upping the milligrams for a few of his everyday medications, in wake of what their most recent case had been doing to him, mentally and physically. Whether or not this had actually happened, Dani had no way of knowing. Gabrielle had been pushing a sleeping aid on him, as well. Predictably, Malcolm had vetoed the idea. 

Tonight, he didn’t look as though he would need much help falling asleep. He was exhausted beyond measure; they both were. But, as was not uncommon, Malcolm was running on fumes. When combined with his physical injuries, the poor man could barely stand on his own two feet. Dani had practically carried him up the stairs to his loft, supporting nearly all his weight as he leaned into her, his good arm draped across the back of her shoulders. The other arm was strapped tightly to his body nearly to the point of discomfort; if he moved it too much, the nursing staff had warned sternly, surgery loomed in his future. Sleep was what he needed most now; it was the worst possible thing to prescribe him. 

As she finished arranging the pillows behind him and leaned away, Malcolm watched her for a few beats, as if trying to gauge how far he could press his luck. His teeth worried his bottom lip for a few seconds before he took the chance and asked, “Do me a favor?” 

Dani straightened, arms crossed over her chest as she stared him down. He didn’t quite wilt under her gaze, but he came close. His shoulders sagged as he offered up a weak, apologetic smile. (She had been getting a lot of those, lately.) Or at least, his attempt at a smile. The nurses had been able to find him a pain management medication that wouldn’t result in drowsiness; they did, however, make him foggy, a little slower on the draw than he normally would have been. And they certainly weren’t as effective in dulling the actual pain as he needed them to be. 

He was still in a fair bit of agony, she knew, and his smile was more of a half wince, half smirk hybrid. Either way, it did its job. Affection bloomed in her chest, and her hardened expression dropped for a half second. It was enough; she could tell the exact moment Malcolm noticed her resolve slip. Under the haze of painkillers, his eyes lit up. 

“Fine,” she said through a sigh. As if taking him home after the stunt(s) he had pulled that day wasn’t enough. The favor train should have made its last stop at this station, after he had signed himself out of the hospital early and she had driven him back to his loft. This had been one of the longest nights of her life (at least since the night he had been kidnapped. It didn’t evade her knowledge that the longest nights of her life seemed to start and end with Malcolm Bright.) She wanted to go home; she wanted to scream at him. Instead, she bit it all back. Her arms dropped to her sides, hands squeezing into fists briefly before she forced herself to relax. 

Malcolm was watching her closely, his hawkish eyes taking in every micro reaction, every twitch of muscle. “I know you’re upset,” he said quietly, his gaze flicking up to catch hers. “I get it. I’d be upset, too, if I were you.” 

“Yeah?” she said. Her anger snapped off its leash, baring its teeth at him for a moment. “Why couldn’t you’ve just listened to the doctor?” she asked, and he was caught off guard by her bluntness. He shouldn’t have been; he had known it was coming, eventually. A weakened dam could only keep a flood at bay for so long. 

He swallowed thickly. Idly, he reached over with his free hand and picked up the thick leather restraint cuff resting on the bed next to his thigh and started toying with it. “I couldn’t stay there overnight,” he murmured. His fingers fiddled with the cuff as he spoke, giving his hand something to do, and he flicked at the metal buckle with his thumbnail. “No place like home, right?” he said dryly, as he held up the cuff and gave it a little shake. Its wire rattled lightly against his headboard behind him. 

Dani softened at that. In truth, she was too worn out to argue any further with him. She had said her piece at the hospital, and he had made his indifference toward her feelings clear. The bed dipped slightly under her weight as she sat down on the edge of it. Malcolm looked up at her tentatively. “That’s why you didn’t want to stay?” She asked earnestly. “Because they didn’t have restraints?”    
  


“I’m sure they have some form of restraints available for the more violent psychiatric patients,” he mused. He didn’t have to elaborate any further on what that would have looked like. They both knew it wouldn’t have been pretty. “And it was either that or allow myself to be sedated. And that’s not an option right now.” 

Dani watched him, searched the expression on his face. A haunted look had crowded into his eyes as he stared down at the cuff in his hand. Abruptly, she reached out and put her hand on his knee. He jumped. 

“Hey,” she said, “Whatever’s going on in there,” She paused to tap her own temple with her index finger. “You know you can talk to me about it. Right?” She squeezed his leg gently. “Feels like you’ve been holding me at arms’ length all week.” 

He looked up at her, then. The frustration had leached from her expression; in its stead, there was only open-ended concern. He let out a shaky sigh and nodded. “It’s just been bad lately,” he said. “With him.” Dani didn’t need any further elaboration on who the “him” in question was. 

Martin Whitly.

They were all at fault, really. The whole team. It had been clear the toll the visits to his father had been taking on him all that week, as Martin picked him apart visit after visit like a vulture tearing scraps from bone. Malcolm had been coming back even more haggard, even more spent. Yet, every time he went, he came equipped with new insight on their latest case. 

Gil hadn’t been encouraging the visits, exactly, but he certainly didn’t ask Malcolm to stop. They were just getting so close to solving this thing, dancing up to the heels of their perp until it felt like he was only an arm’s length away. Dani doubted Malcolm would have ceased his visits, even if Gil  _ had  _ asked him to stop. Bright just kept throwing himself on the chopping block, day after day, and the one who benefited most was the man tethered to the wall. 

Martin always did like planting his little seeds. Abundant in patience, he’d harvest them later. And the guilt Malcolm kept himself shrouded in, as it turned out, was fertile soil for planting. 

“I know he’s just trying to get in my head,” Malcolm said, predicting her next thought and voicing it aloud for the both of them. Then, quieter, “I just wish it didn’t work so well.” 

“Whatever he’s been telling you,” she told him, her words wrapped in certainty, “We both know it’s not true. He’s a liar, Malcolm.” 

“That’s the thing, though,” he said. “I can’t tell what’s true and what isn’t anymore.” The tremor in his hand found its way to his voice. He gripped the restraint cuff tighter, until the buckle dug into the skin of his palm. “Every time I try to sleep, I just lie awake thinking about what he’s said to me.” 

Dani knew full well how late into the night Bright had been keeping himself up. She had grown used to the text alerts from him, well into the wee hours of the morning. So used to them that she slept through them at this point. When she awoke the next morning, her phone was brimming with texts that had come in staggered, thoughts on the case sent to her at 1:23AM, 3:50AM, all the way up until he caught an hour of sleep around 5:00. 

Something near the hallway leading to the bathroom caught his gaze, and he stared off into the dark as he continued, “I can’t turn it off, Dani.” The fear in his voice, the  _ pleading _ as he said her name, gutted her. “I can’t turn his  _ voice _ off. It doesn’t matter where I am, or what I do to tune it out. He still seems to find me.” 

Dani listened with a mounting sense of horror; this explained so much from the past week. Why he had been avoiding her, essentially, caught up in a dense form of tunnel vision with their case, desperate to puzzle the pieces together into an image that made sense to him. Nothing else in the world had been able to take his attention from it until it was solved and their killer was in handcuffs. Frustration as palpable and as hot as anger had been buzzing under his skin all week. 

He had been coming into the precinct looking more and more exhausted, until frankly none of them were sure how he was even still upright. He looked haggard, at least by Malcolm Bright standards, and vaguely unkempt. One day, he had forgotten to tie his tie all the way; it had hung loose and sideways around his neck, like he had started it and had gotten distracted by something. (It had stayed that way until Gil noticed and wordlessly fixed it for him while Malcolm was mid sentence.)

Dani had only spent the night at his place once that week. She fell asleep on the couch, curled up into its corner, drifting off to an episode of  _ Seinfeld _ on his TV and the crinkle of book pages as Malcolm flipped through the  _ Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders _ (the 9% of it he didn’t have memorized). He was seated on the other side of the couch, book propped up on its arm, with her socked feet resting in his lap. Occasionally, he would pause before he turned a page and absentmindedly place a warm hand over her calf, his fingertips ghosting over her shin as he read. 

She hadn’t even intended to fall asleep. But the next thing she knew, it was 6:00 in the morning and Malcolm’s alarm was going off--Sam Cooke’s “Yeah, Man” playing on his record player’s speakers, linked from his iPhone. Bright was still in his spot next to her on the couch, staring down at the book in his lap, until he was jolted out of his concentration, seemingly just as surprised as she had been at how quickly the night had flown by. 

It was abundantly obvious he had been spreading himself too thin. And ultimately, it had been the perfect opportunity for a slip up on a case. They had all been careful, clad in kevlar vests beneath their clothes at Gil’s insistence. But Bright shouldn’t have been separated from the group, and he should have known (at least by his own standards) that there would be a partner, a second gunman in the warehouse--one who was easily spooked. 

None of that mattered now. He had been hurt on a case, and they were dealing with it. At least, for her part, Dani was  _ trying _ to deal with it. Malcolm was still very clearly struggling; the enormous physical setback didn’t seem to be helping his enervated mental state.

“You can’t shut me out,” she told him gently. “I can’t help you when you shut me out. Okay?” 

A humorless little laugh flew past the gates of his lips before he could catch it. “I have to shut you out,” he said, somewhat darkly. “You don’t want to be in here.” He tilted his head and tapped his temple with his first two fingers. “Trust me.” 

He was spiraling. Fast. “You need rest,” Dani told him. “Actual rest. You remember what the doctor said, right? Were you listenin’ to that part?” He shot her a look, which she promptly ignored. “If you don’t take it easy, they’re gonna have to do surgery.” She looked pointedly at his shoulder. “And I don’t care what you say about anesthesia not being invented until 1850, or whenever it was. You can’t just opt out of anesthesia. No doctor would do a surgery like that. It’s barbaric.” 

One corner of his mouth twitched upward as he smirked, looking surprised, and he almost forewent correcting her--almost. “1846,” he said, though pride still shone through his eyes and the grin that danced onto his features. “By a dentist. You  _ were _ listening!” 

Dani’s mouth flattened into an unamused line, and Bright sighed dramatically. 

“Can’t you just punch me again?” he whined. 

That got a laugh out of her. A real one. “Definitely not. I’ll take a rain check, though.” 

“Well, in that case,” he said, as all playfulness sapped from his tone. “I still need that favor.” Dani eyed him skeptically, but he went on. “Under the bed, there’s a box. I can’t get it myself.” He gestured, unnecessarily, to his slinged arm. “I need you to pull it out for me.” 

The skepticism was firmly planted on her face. “What’s in this box?” 

“Nothing weird,” he assured her. 

The look she gave him plainly said she doubted it, but she got off the bed anyway. “Your definition of weird is very skewed.” 

“Takes one to know one, detective.” 

He had her there. 

“Okay,” he went on, as she crouched down and moved back the dust ruffle to peer beneath the bed. “It’s black, I think. Kind of big. Pushed up against the wall, by the headboard?” 

She fished around for a few moments blindly with her hand before she gave up and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. The bright white light of her flashlight app spilled out, illuminating the underside of his bed. 

“See it?” 

“Got it,” she said. Thankfully, it had a handle. She grabbed it and started to pull it forward; its corner caught on one of the bars holding up his box spring, and she had to jimmy it around for a moment before it popped free. 

“Sorry,” Malcolm said reflexively. 

The box wasn’t exactly light; the mattress bounced slightly as she dropped it onto the bed. Inside was a thick, leather collar. Not the sexy kind of leather, either; there was absolutely, positively nothing sexy about the item being stored in the box beneath Bright’s bed. It looked nearly identical to the thick, rigid leather restraint cuffs he buckled around his wrists each night, only this was significantly larger and wider. 

It was several inches wide in girth, made of hardy, inflexible leather, and the only way to get it on was to buckle it. It looked like it was made for a young bull, or some other wild, bucking animal. 

She stared down at it, dumbfounded for a moment. Then it clicked. 

“Bright,” she said warily, her gaze snapping back up to him. “No.” 

A ghost of a smile touched his features. It wasn’t real; it was just meant to comfort her, or perhaps himself, but it was such a poor attempt that it came off more like a sad grimace. “I have to,” he said. He wiggled his slinged shoulder again at her, as if to say,  _ See? _ “I can’t put my other wrist in the cuff.” 

His expression turned sheepish, borderline pained, and he looked genuinely embarrassed. Ashamed. Her heart plummeted. That was the very last thing she ever wanted him to feel. She knew, undoubtedly, that this was a deeply personal moment; there were very few people he would trust to do this for him. She wasn’t exactly honored--more horrified than anything. 

Because what she was holding in her hands was a collar intended for his neck, so he could chain himself to his bed frame like a dog while his arm was out of commission. So he wouldn’t throw himself out his window again during the inevitable night terrors waiting for him on the other side of consciousness; so he wouldn’t come within an inch of killing himself again. Because he had been torturing himself by visiting his father day after day for their latest case, and it was wearing him so thin, she could almost see through him. 

She gripped the collar in her hands tightly, until her knuckles blanched white and her palms ached with the strain as its edges dug into her skin. It pissed her off, the fact that he had to do this to himself, and it hurt her heart. 

“Please, Dani.” His voice was so small, so achingly vulnerable, that in that moment, she likely would have done just about anything he asked. “I can’t do it myself.” 

She stared down at the collar in her hands for a few beats, and Malcolm held his breath, nearly sure she wasn’t going to do it for him. But then she sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed next to him, and he visibly relaxed. “Thank you,” he said. Dani didn’t respond, other than a tight-lipped smile; she hated that this was a favor, in the first place. 

He dipped his head forward, extending his neck for her, trying to be helpful. The collar was stiff and cumbersome; it took her some time to even work it open wide enough so that she could slip it onto him. “This thing is ridiculous,” she said, and Malcolm laughed a little puff of air through his nose in response. “Is it always this hard to get it to open?” 

“Ah, I wouldn’t know,” he said, as he watched her hands pull open the collar a few times in quick succession to try to loosen it up. “Never had to use it. I’ve always had two fully-functioning arms at my disposal, until tonight. This just came with the wrist cuffs. Kind of like a buy-one-get-one thing, I guess. Just in case.” 

Dani huffed. “Well, someone was thinking ahead.” Finally, the leather seemed warmed up enough that she could pry it open more than just a few inches. “Wait,” she said, scrunching her nose. “This isn’t like, a weird sex thing people are into, is it?” 

Bright ducked his head just slightly as a distinct dusting of pink arose to his cheeks. “Um, no. At least, I don’t think so. I didn’t buy them from an adult toy store, if that’s what you’re asking.” He eyed her cheekily, peering up at her through his lashes. “They were custom made for my… unique peculiarities.” 

She watched him, biting the inside of her lower lip to keep a smirk at bay. “From a place that also sells sex toys?” 

“Very possible.” 

She chuckled, shaking her head at him fondly. “All right, keep your head down for me.” The back of her fingers brushed over the side of his neck as she tried to maneuver it onto him, and Bright tensed noticeably, swinging his head away. 

“What?” she said, pausing. “My hands aren’t even cold.” 

“No,” he hesitated. “It’s not that. Sorry. Keep going.” 

It took her a minute, but as she fiddled with the buckles on the collar and he pulled away from her yet again as her fingers brushed over his skin, it clicked. “You’re ticklish, aren’t you?” 

He side-eyed her, a look in his eyes in the realm of anticipatory dread, like she was going to use her newfound knowledge against him at any second. “Maybe,” he said eventually. 

“How’ve you been able to hide that from me for so long?” she asked, not even bothering to hide the smile that blossomed over her features. “All right, tough guy,” she said, as she shook her head lightly, her curls bouncing back out of her face. “I promise your secret is safe with me.” 

“Good,” he said, and she chuckled at what sounded like genuine relief in his voice.

The collar was more intricate than his wrist cuffs, which by now she was well accustomed to working with, and it took her a few minutes to get it securely around his neck. She slipped her fingers under it, ignoring how he tried to squirm away from her, and tested how close it was to his skin. “I don’t like how tight this is,” she declared, but he waved off her concern with his one free hand. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “Really.” 

“Not too uncomfortable?” 

“Darling, I’ll be fine,” he murmured, as he leaned back into his pillow, adjusting his head until he found a position where the top of the restraint wasn’t digging into the underside of his jaw bone. Her stomach did a little swoop, as it did every time he called her “darling”. It came so naturally to him, yet it knocked her off her feet every time. 

She took in a breath and released it through one long sigh. “All right, if you say so. Can I help you change into some pajamas?” 

The bullet had effectively destroyed both his dress shirt and the undershirt beneath it; his sling rested atop a borrowed scrub shirt from the hospital. It went swimmingly with his dress pants. “I’m fine,” he said again, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. He was fading fast. 

The one usable restraint cuff was resting at his hip, and she reached out and plucked it up off the bed. As she held it open for him so he could clumsily slide his wrist into it, that gentle nudge of deja vu returned, and a wave of warmth spilled through her.

Bright hummed sleepily, dropping his hand to his side; the cuff’s wire gave a soft  _ clink _ . “Thanks, Dani,” he murmured.

The corner of his mouth tugged up in a soft smile, which she couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss as she whispered, “No problem.” His mouth guard was in the drawer of his nightstand, stored in its case, and he would have been horrified on her behalf to know she had ever touched it. It went to show how tired he truly was that he let her take it out and slip it into his mouth for him. 

She reached out and swept the bangs back off his forehead, scraping her nails gently over his scalp, and he hummed again as his eyes turned to contented little slits. “You’re m’favorite,” he mumbled, as she placed her hand on the side of his face, brushing her thumb over the apple of his cheek tenderly, until his eyes slipped closed.

All the anger that had been pacing around inside her like a caged animal had melted away by now. In its stead was pure, unfiltered exhaustion. She knew without hesitation that she would crash her car if she tried to drive home, and she didn’t have the patience to wait around for a cab. 

Malcolm’s couch was looking more inviting by the second. 

+++

  
  


Despite how draining the day had been, it took Dani some time to actually fall asleep. Malcolm, on the other hand, was asleep before she could find the right switch to dim the lights above his bed.

She could hear the faint clink of metal now and again as he adjusted his head, positioning his neck just right so he didn’t feel the restraint as much. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the soft sound of his breathing from across the loft. Even Sunshine, who had gotten justifiably riled when they had first gotten home, was settling down again in her cage. Eventually, as Dani willed her thoughts to slow and her body to still, she was able to drift off. 

At close to three in the morning, her eyes snapped open. Moonlight spilled in through the windows beneath the staircase, glinting off the weapons displayed on the wall. Through the dark, she could just make out the tops of the towering shelves of books. The loft was eerily quiet; whatever had awoken her had grown silent.

And then she heard it: the unfortunately familiar  _ thwap! _ of Malcolm’s restraints being pulled taut as he fought against them. 

Typically, Dani was a fairly light sleeper. It was an odd point of pride for her, as a cop; she knew, without doubt, that if anyone tried to break into her apartment in the middle of the night, she would awake in an instant. (There was a gun in her nightstand, just in case.) But, the human body tends to grow accustomed to things it hears often, able to tune out non-threats, even in sleep. The honking and tire squealing and general obscenity that was New York City traffic didn’t even make her twitch in her sleep anymore. And sadly, by this point in their relationship, Dani was also very used to the sound of Malcolm fighting his restraints and crying out in his sleep. 

She listened intently for a few minutes, staring up at the darkened underside of the staircase, debating whether or not she should wake him up. It was a toss up, really. He desperately needed sleep, but thrashing around was hardly going to earn him any actual rest. And then there was the added complication of his injured shoulder. She couldn’t decide if it was better to wake him up, protect his arm, or leave him undisturbed and hope he managed to slip back into a more peaceful rest.

Worry won, in the end. It hurt too much to listen to him struggle, each yank against his restraints a tug on her heart, in kind. But as Dani pulled the throw blanket off her, just about to get up and check on him, he seemed to still--or at least, she couldn’t hear the restraints pulling taut anymore. For a minute or so, he seemed like he had finally settled down. Dani checked the time on her phone, groaned at what it told her, and fell back onto the couch with her arm over her eyes to block out the moonlight. 

She couldn’t hear him choking, at first. 

At first, she thought it was Sunshine fiddling with one of her toys. But then, the realization hit her like a punch to the gut, and she shot up into a sitting position. Malcolm was choking, gagging on his own desperate need for air. Like someone had their hands around his neck, pushing the life out of him with their thumbs. 

As soon as she pieced it together, she leapt to her feet.

Malcolm was in bed, twisted onto his good side as far over to the edge of the bed as the restraint over his neck would allow; the collar had inched up, cutting into the space where his neck and jaw met, pressing against his larynx. The wire it was connected to was pulled as tightly as it would go. The heap of pillows that had been piled up behind him were scattered across the floor, like they’d been flung in a pillow fight. 

Half a second of raw panic had her in its grip, rooting her to the spot. It didn’t take her long to deduce what had happened, what she was looking at. Whatever he was dreaming about, whatever horror he was trapped in, it was literally killing him. Dani snapped out of it. “Bright!” she called, darting to his side. “Bright, wake up.” Through the meager amount of light pouring in through his arched window, she could just make out his face. His lips were pulled back in a pained snarl over his mouth guard, baring it like a feral animal flashing its teeth. Through the curtain of his bangs, she could see the whites of his eyes as they rolled back into his head. 

She grabbed him by his good shoulder, shoving her weight into him to move him back, desperate to give the restraint around his neck some slack so he could actually breathe. But the contact seemed to startle him; he gasped sharply, ripping his good arm away from her once before swinging it wildly back at her, and she narrowly missed getting swiped in the mouth. 

Spittle had gathered around his mouth guard; she could hear it hissing wetly every time he tried to suck in a panicked breath. She made a move to pry it out, but he was clenching his teeth down on it so hard, she didn’t stand a chance of getting it to budge. 

Dani managed to get him to the center of the bed again with one last, strong shove. The wire around the neck restraint slackened, and the moment it did, he pulled in a quick breath through his nose. The sudden rush of air choked him, and he coughed roughly around his mouth guard. 

Within seconds, he was fighting again, twisting to get away from her. He threw himself forward violently, as if trying to make a run for it, and the neck restraint jerked him back hard. Like a dog who had taken off full speed after a rabbit, only to realize the hard way it was still on a leash. 

He was moving too much, too fast for her to slip the neck restraint off him. Any chance he got, he jolted away from her, always fighting, only to have the collar jerk him back roughly. 

“Bright,” she tried again, desperately. “ _ Wake up _ .” For a split second, he seemed to pause, and she took the opportunity to push down on his good side with all her weight, trying her best to pin him to the bed. She was strong, but Bright was physically stronger--at least when he was like this, fighting tooth and nail. He bucked wildly under her, trying to throw her off, panicking at the pressure of her weight and the feeling of being held down. 

But her voice was in his ear, pleading. “Malcolm,  _ please _ ,” Fear had seeped into her tone, despite her best efforts to stay calm. “Honey, you’re hurting yourself.” She ran her hand through his hair, gripping it firmly. She kept her hand close to his scalp, not pulling, but just holding it tightly, desperate to get his attention without him hurting himself any more. “You have to wake up!  _ Bright _ .” She pressed her forehead against his, holding his face to hers as the palm of her other hand pressed against his cheek. 

“Come back,” she begged. “I’m right here. You’re okay. Come find me.  _ Come back _ .” Slowly, the resistance started to drain out of him. Dani kept whispering his name, trying to lead him out of whatever hell he was trapped in. 

Gradually, his whining and gasps for air were punctured as his breath hitched, the air hissing wetly around his mouth guard. Finally, the fight dropped out of him. His body sagged, his head lolling backward, and Dani’s firm grip on his hair relaxed as she reached back to cup the back of his head. 

“Dani?” he said. Or at least, she assumed that’s what he said; it was difficult to make out around the guard in his mouth. The sound scraped out of his throat, and she winced at how raw and painful it sounded. 

“Hey,” she said, trying to clamp down the tremor in her voice. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here.” She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, which were wild, blown out with confusion. 

“Wha…” he started, before she shushed him. He was still breathing erratically, his breath hitching once before he started coughing. She kept her hand at his cheek, stroking his stubble with her thumb soothingly. 

“Breathe with me, okay?” She murmured. She took a deep, purposeful inhale through her nose, letting it out slowly through her mouth. He tried his best to mimic her, and eventually, after several terrible tries that ended in hacking coughs, he succeeded. 

After he got his breathing under control, he wriggled his good arm out from under her and pulled his mouth guard out. “Was I--” he started, his voice nothing more than a weak croak, and he had to clear his throat roughly before he could try again. The second attempt wasn’t much of an improvement. “Was I… dreaming? A nightmare?” 

Dani nodded. “You were choking yourself with this,” she said, as she started to undo the collar. He didn’t protest; as soon as it was off, he reached up to rub his neck. 

“Shit,” Dani said quietly, her eyes widening. His throat had been rubbed raw. “Oh, Malcolm…” Instinctively, she reached out to touch it, stopping herself at the last second. 

“Hurts,” Malcolm croaked weakly. Dani moved her hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it tenderly beneath his hairline. 

“It looks like it does,” she said with an empathetic wince.

“I couldn’t get out,” he whispered hoarsely; it was as loud a volume as his voice could seem to manage. She darted forward and kissed his forehead, coaxing him to continue. He did, shakily. “H-he was… taking the bones out of my shoulder.” He winced. “One at a time.” 

As his pain medication had worn off in the night, clearly the pain in his shoulder had bled into his dreams. Dani’s gut sank. “You’re out now,” she said firmly. “He’s not here. I’m here, though. Okay?” She pressed her forehead lightly into his again, and he closed his eyes, giving a quiet little whimper of appreciation. The sound effectively took what was left of her heart and broke it in half. “Can I get you some water?” she asked quietly. He nodded, and she kissed his cheek once before she pulled away. 

It only took her a minute to pad over to the kitchen, fill up a glass at his sink, and fish his pain management meds out of her satchel by the door. Despite the fact that he had checked out of the hospital against medical advice, his doctor had given him painkillers to take home--giant horse pills of the strongest over-the-counter pain medication available. They were essentially very strong ibuprofen. They wouldn’t do a lot, but they would certainly take the edge off for him. And judging by his current state, Bright was nothing but edges. 

“Can you sit up?” she asked, and he nodded slowly as he started to prop himself up onto his good elbow. Gingerly, he took the water she offered him and stole several greedy gulps. The horse pill was another story altogether, and it took several pathetic, choking attempts before he managed to get it down. 

Dani grabbed the nearest pillow and put it under his head; immediately, he leaned back into it with an appreciative groan. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“Don’t be.” She said. 

“Stay with me?” he asked, and at this, she smiled. 

“Where else would I go?” 

  
  


+++

  
  


She wasn’t sure how awake he really was, knew his night terrors could play wicked tricks on him. As soon as he lay back down, made himself actually comfortable with the leather collar noticeably absent from his neck, his eyes rolled back as sleep tried to claim him again.

“Just sleep,” she told him. “I’ll be right here.” His good arm was still restrained, and she had tucked herself securely under it. The collar was on the other side of the room, exactly where she had thrown it, far away where it belonged. 

The rise and fall of his chest grew rhythmic, his heartbeat steady and calm under her hand. She had just begun to think he had fallen asleep when he whispered something unintelligible to the dark. 

“What?” she asked quietly. 

There was a pause, enough time for apprehension to bud in her chest, before he spoke again. “Why are you even dating me?” It was so quiet, she almost could have convinced herself she had imagined it. Despite the noticeable crack in his voice.

She sucked in a breath. “What are you talking about?” 

“None of this is… normal,” he murmured. “ _ I’m _ not normal.” His voice broke around the words as they clawed their way out of his throat. She was almost positive he had bruised his vocal cords or trachea by now. He sounded like he had been trapped in a well for the past two days, screaming for help the whole time. He sounded like the words  _ hurt _ . And as she looked at his face, at the expression she could just barely make out in the dark, the way he winced in pain every time he had to swallow, she knew they did hurt. In more ways than one. 

There was a weighty pause before he went on. “You deserve someone normal, Dani,” he whispered. “You don’t deserve… whatever all this is.” The more he spoke, the more passionate he grew, and soon his whispering voice had graduated to the closest thing he could muster to truly talking. “You don’t deserve  _ me _ .” 

The words, on their own, implied something much different. Hubris, a great arrogance--like he knew he could do better than her. In truth, he meant the far-flung opposite. 

She shushed him quietly, leaning up to brush her lips over his, her palm finding its way to his cheek again. It wasn’t a rhetorical question. She knew Bright; she could tell he wanted a real explanation. An answer to a question he kept bringing himself back to time and time again:  _ why _ was she dating him? Once she got over the initial shock, the initial ache at just how plaintive the question was, she bundled up her courage and answered him, shoving out the words before she could second guess herself. “Because I love you, idiot.” 

She winced. This wasn’t exactly how Dani had envisioned this confession happening, if it happened at all. It came out harsher than she intended, at least in its phrasing. Her soft tone, however, perfectly matched the affection swelling up in her chest. A handful of seconds gathered together in a heavy pause as the words finally registered to him. His eyes, glassy in the moonlight, shot to her face. 

“I… you what?” he said, dumbfounded.

Part of her hoped he wouldn’t recall this moment, come the morning. She told herself he wouldn’t; it made repeating it easier, a little less terrifying. “Pretty sure I love you, Malcolm.” He couldn’t even move his neck to turn and get a better look at her; he tried, turning his chin toward her once, and the motion made a muscle in the side of his neck spasm. He hissed in pain. “Hey,” she said, “Don’t try to move, okay?” 

“Dani,” he said, promptly ignoring her. “You love me?” He said it like it shocked him, like it made no sense to him. “How?” he pressed. 

“That a real question?” she asked, quirking her brows at him.

His arm wrapped around her waist, his hand moving up her back until it eventually found its way to the back of her head, cradling it as he wove his fingers into her curls. “Dani,” her name broke in half in his throat, and she tilted her chin up just far enough to brush her nose over the tip of his. The air left his lungs in a soft  _ whoosh _ . “You really love me?” 

“I’m pretty sure,” she said dryly, one corner of her mouth twitching up into a smirk. 

This would be a moment she would replay over and over in her mind, until the memory grew faded and well-loved, like an old photograph. A warm, sappy smile spilled out over Malcolm’s features. “I love you,” he told her. He said it like he had been the first of them to say it. He said it assuredly, completely lacking in doubt or hesitation. 

Dani was pretty good at reading people. She always had been, even before she became a cop. Her academy training had only enhanced what had always been there--an innate ability to tell when people were bullshitting her. It came well before she even learned what body language cues were. She was no profiler, but she was good at reading people. It was just a feeling, deep in her gut. A hidden lie detector that just felt like second nature at this point. When people told her something, she could usually tell if they meant it. It helped her understand people, generally see them for who and what they were. It helped her hunt the bad guys and recognize the people who needed protecting. 

And then she had met Malcolm Bright, a walking contradiction. Nothing about him had made sense to her, at first. He came in a pre-packaged box of what she had wrongly assumed was arrogance, the offputting hubris of a rich, white, Ivy League kid who was better than anyone he came in contact with. She had never been more wrong about anyone in her life. 

Now, she knew him better than almost anyone. She knew when he was lying to her. (Mostly because he was very bad at it.) And right then, in that moment, he wasn’t lying. 

“You do?” she asked, almost shyly. 

“Of course I do,” he said. She was close enough then that he could take her lips against his with just a small upward tilt of his chin. His lips were dry, but his kiss was soft, utterly adoring. Her hand found its way to his wild hair, gripping it gently, tugging him closer. He kissed her slowly, sweetly, and tiredly; she could tell he was fighting to stay awake. 

“You can go back to sleep.” 

“I love you,” he told her again, just because he could. He said it like it was the first time he had ever said it to her. It occurred to her, vaguely, that he might not have remembered he had already told her, that he might still be that out of it. She didn’t care. 

“I love you too, Bright,” she said, and that same warm, beautiful smile broached his face like a sunrise. 

“How?” he asked again. 

She brushed the hair out of his face, pressing her lips to his brow. “I just do.” 

“Doesn’t make any sense,” he murmured. His eyes were starting to slip closed. 

“Doesn’t fit the profile, hmm?” she teased, and she swore he  _ giggled _ at her. 

“You deserve better than me,” he told her, and she knew then that he was lying, but it was, unfortunately, a lie he believed. 

“Let me be the judge of that,” she told him. 

His hand had fallen lax across her shoulders, and she tucked herself back in at his side, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. Her hand was still in his hair, her fingertips gently massaging the part, nails scraping lightly into his scalp. He was a sucker for when she played with his hair; generally, if he was tired enough, it put him out like a light. Tonight was no exception. 

+++ 

Surprisingly, after the wildness that was the night before, he awoke gently. There was no more thrashing, no more fighting or screaming. He wasn’t even pulled out of sleep by his alarm; instead, he awoke to the sound of eggs cracking over his stovetop. 

The sound registered in his brain, and his stomach reacted with an immediate, vigorous demand for food. He groaned, wincing against the barrage of sunlight streaming in through his window, as he finally managed to prop himself up on his elbow. Dani looked up brightly from her place at his stove. “Hey,” she called. 

The moment he went to answer her, his throat betrayed him. He started hacking violently, the muscles of his larynx seizing up on him painfully. There was still half a glass of water on the nearest nightstand, and he did a half roll toward it, snatching it up and gulping it greedily. It was gone too quickly.

He felt the bed dip before he saw her. She sat on the edge of furthest from the window, and sunlight danced through her dark hair, making her look absolutely radiant. She held out a fresh glass of water, which he took gratefully. 

“Thanks,” he said--or tried to say, anyway. His voice sounded like he’d been gargling thumbtacks all night. Dani winced sympathetically. 

“Throat hurt?” she asked, and he nodded. “Yeah. That whole neck restraint thing was a terrible idea. Real waste of money.” 

“Who knew,” he croaked. 

She leaned across his legs and took his hand, sandwiching it gently between hers. “Do you feel any better?” The appraising look she gave him, followed by a frown, told him everything he needed to know. He looked like shit.

“Been better,” he managed. 

She nodded, reaching out to take his one free hand as soon as he had set the glass down. “I’ve got more pain pills for you. You’re gonna want some food in your stomach with ‘em, though. Come on.” She tugged on his hand until he sat up the rest of the way and swung his legs out off the bed. 

“Smells good,” he said, as he took in a deep breath through his nose.

“It’s nothing fancy,” she said wryly as a disclaimer, as she made her way back to her post at the stove. “Just eggs.” 

“I like your eggs.” 

“That’s because I make them how you like ‘em,” she said, as she slipped the spatula under the eggs and gave them a little nudge. “Which is as plain as possible, with almost zero flavor.” 

“Eggs don’t need extra flavor,” he said, as he tugged a bar stool out from under the island counter and sat down across from her, watching her eagerly. “They’re supposed to taste like eggs.” 

She rolled her eyes affectionately at him. He was the pickiest eater she had ever met. If a single grain of salt, pepper or--God forbid-- _ garlic _ touched his eggs, he wouldn’t go near them. “I didn’t actually know if you’d be hungry,” she said. “Or when you were gonna wake up, to be honest. But I made extra, just in case.” 

“Surprisingly, I’m actually starving,” he said, in time with another growl from his stomach. She had already gotten a French press of coffee started, and he immediately reached out and commandeered her mug. 

“That’s because you turned your nose up at everything the hospital tried to feed you, except for Jell-O,” she said, making a mock move to slap his hand away from her coffee with the spatula. “Oh, hey, speaking of which. I got you a present.” 

He perked noticeably at that, eyeing her with wide eyes from around the rim of her mug as he stole a sip. “A present?” 

Dani flipped the stove off and moved the omelette pan over to a cool burner before she came around to the other side of the kitchen island to stand next to his good side. “Mm-hmm,” she hummed. “Sure did.” He held his arm out wide, and she moved into the space he created, inching in close to his side. She ran a hand through his hair, combing it all one way with her fingers until it flipped over its own part and was all pushed in the same direction. He shook his head playfully at her. 

“Your hair is a hot mess,” she told him, leaning down to kiss his temple. 

He hummed, tilting his head closer to her. “I think I’m just a hot mess.” 

She reached up and tapped his nose with her index finger. “But you’re  _ my _ hot mess.” 

He looked up at her, a soft smile playing at his lips. “Always.” 

A stupid, happy grin spread out over her features until it had taken up nearly her entire face. She pulled away, ignoring his little whine of protest, and went to grab her satchel by the door. Its contents jostled when she picked it up, and Bright leaned over in his stool, trying to get a better look without putting any strain on his sore neck. The result was an awkward, half-body lean that almost made his stool topple over. Dani chuckled, slipping in next to him again as she set her bag down on the island counter. 

The black leather satchel was bulging at the sides, and she watched his eyes flit over it curiously, trying to deduce what was inside. Normally, it carried nothing but files and paperwork and a few random junk items she otherwise would have kept in a purse. It had never been this full before. Malcolm looked up at her expectantly, waiting. 

She toyed with the flap opening for a few seconds, dragging out the reveal, until he huffed and started reaching for the bag, himself. She tsked at him. “Patience,” she said, before she whipped it open with a flourish. 

Inside was a whole stash of lemon Jell-O cups; the bag was full of them, all crowded in next to each other. Bright’s eyes grew huge. “You didn’t,” he said. His poor voice cracked halfway through the words like a young boy nearing puberty. 

She smirked deviously at him. “Oh, I did. Swiped them off a refill cart on my way back from the cafeteria.” Bright had specifically asked for lemon Jell-O when offered something to eat by the hospital nursing staff. Naturally, his luck had run out for the night; they had every flavor  _ except _ lemon. 

This had been before their fight about him checking himself out, when Dani had still pitied him; she had gone down to the cafeteria to look for something decent to eat. On her way back, she’d stumbled on the holy grail of snack refill carts, and had swiped all the yellow Jell-O containers that would fit in her bag for him. When she had returned to his room, he was in a heated discussion with a nurse about having his discharge papers brought to him. The pilfered Jell-O became an afterthought.

Malcolm’s eyes somehow managed to pop even wider. “De _ tec _ tive Powell,” he said, putting his palm over his chest in feigned shock, before his expression was overtaken by a look of mischievous delight. She may as well have just brought him a chest full of golden doubloons. “Oh, you really do love me,” he said, as he reached in and plucked one out. 

Something warm and light and wonderful spilled out into her chest at his words. For a moment, she could only stare at him, a smile tugging up the corners of her mouth as she watched him struggle to open the little container with his only usable hand. Eventually, he gave in and started pulling off the little aluminum tab with his teeth. 

“Hold on, you animal,” she said, chuckling. “At least let me get you a spoon.” 

She fished one out of his silverware drawer, and he took it gratefully, immediately plunging it into the little plastic cup, splitting the perfectly smooth top of the Jell-O into a delicious trench. He tore through nearly three of them before she forced him to stop and down another pain pill. It was big, and his throat was incredibly sore, so he hid it in another spoonful of Jell-O and downed it that way. Dani took out his other prescription medications, fetching them out from the drawer he had stuffed them in, and set each pill out in a line for him. He took them dutifully. 

She made more coffee. It was too strong, but he didn’t complain. The morning stretched out languidly, and she filled in the gaps of conversation when it hurt him too much to speak, bringing him up to speed on the case updates Gil and JT had been texting her. They had gotten their perp--and the partner, whose record had been fairly clean, on paper, until he’d shot an NYPD consultant in the chest with a hunting rifle. 

Malcolm couldn’t kid himself into thinking he would never visit his father again, but he knew it would be some time before he did. He’d make sure of it. For the time being, he was infinitely more interested in spending time with the woman in his kitchen. The woman who made him eggs, stole his favorite Jell-O in bulk from a hospital on his behalf. The woman who helped him into his complicated restraint system at night. The woman who, amazingly, said she loved him. He was floored by that notion, and would always be floored by it. He didn’t deserve her, and she deserved better. But as long as she would have him, he would strive to be the sort of man she  _ did _ deserve. The type of man who knew her worth and strove to be worthy of it. 

And that would be enough. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, if you made it this far! ;D If you liked this, it would literally make my day to hear from you. Bless. 
> 
> And go check out McCall's stuff! It's stupid good! She's like, the best Brightwell writer I know, it's wild.


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